


The Good Times and the Bad

by doctor__idiot



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick!Dean, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 06:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11868579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Sam rolls his eyes, plops himself down onto the edge of Dean’s bed. He hands over the steaming bowl of soup he’s been cradling in a dish towel. “You’re a drama queen.”





	The Good Times and the Bad

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to go in a different direction entirely but, alas, here we are.
> 
> Written for the [SPN Kink Bingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com) square "Free Space".

“Give me my gun, please.”

Sam’s eyebrows climb to his hairline as Dean stretches out a jittery hand. “What for?”

“I wanna kill myself.”

Sam rolls his eyes, plops himself down onto the edge of Dean’s bed. He hands over the steaming bowl of soup he’s been cradling in a dish towel. “You’re a drama queen.”

Dean harrumphs and it sends him into a coughing fit. When it subsides, he leans his head back against the headboard, eyes closed. Sam just barely manages to hold back a snort at his brother’s interpretation of the Dying Swan.

“You want me to spoon-feed you?” he offers, half-joking.

Dean cracks one bleary eye open. “Give it here.” He reaches for the bowl and sets it down on top of the blanket over his drawn-up knees.

“You need anything else?”

Dean blows onto the first spoon full of soup to cool it off a little. “Hm. Morphine’d be nice.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sam pushes off the mattress. “It’s just a cold. You’re not going to die.”

“Feels like it,” Dean mumbles quietly but not quietly enough.

Sam shakes his head. “How–“ He doesn’t finish the sentence. It’s not that Dean is usually a whiner. If he actually _was_ dying, Sam would probably never know because Dean wouldn’t say anything. But sometimes he really understands how to milk it.

Sam has to hand it to him, though, if Dean voluntarily accepts the soup and tea Sam brings him without too much bitching or insisting on coffee and cheeseburgers, he has to be feeling pretty shitty.

“I’m gonna be over here if you need me,” Sam says and makes for the narrow desk with his laptop but Dean halts him with a quick hand around his wrist.

“Wait.” He deposits the bowl of soup on the wobbly nightstand and slides down the bed, pulling the blanket up to his nose. “C’mere for a sec.”

“Here where?” Sam returns, bewildered as he’s tugged back toward the bed. He steadies himself with one hand when his knees hit the wooden bed frame.

“Here.” Dean tugs him down further until he doesn’t have a choice but to crawl under the blanket next to Dean. He’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and Dean’s wearing one of Sam’s hoodies and a thick pair of sweatpants but Sam can feel Dean’s feverish body heat through all those layers as he burrows against Sam’s side and into the crook of his arm.

“Er…” Sam clears his throat. Shakes himself out of his confusion. “Never knew you to be someone who asks to be cuddled. Did you hit your head while I wasn’t looking?”

Dean sniffs. Several coughs wrack his body and Sam instinctively tightens his arm around Dean’s shoulders. “m’ cold.”

“Cold?” Sam lifts his head, taking in Dean’s flushed face, his glassy eyes. “You’re burning up.”

“Yeah, so? ‘m fuckin’ freezing,” Dean gripes and tugs the blanket up higher. He sighs with contentment when Sam’s other arm goes around him as well.

Now that Sam is holding him so close he can actually feel the tiny shivers running through him. He tucks Dean’s head under his chin, folding his own body around his brother’s to provide heat and comfort and Dean soon settles down with another sigh. His breaths brush Sam’s collarbone.

He coughs again, wet-hot against Sam’s skin, and Sam knows he’s probably going to catch whatever Dean’s battling right now. He couldn’t care less. Keeping his eyes closed, he listens to Dean’s wheezing breaths, chest rising and falling unsteadily against his own ribcage.

“Hey, Sammy?” Dean asks, voice scratchy-rough.

“You should get some sleep.”

“In a minute.” Dean’s fingers tap Sam’s shoulder insistently.

Sam opens his eyes, slants them down. He can just barely see the tip of Dean’s ear. “What is it?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Sam freezes for one split-second, then spills a laugh. “You’re still not dying, Dean, stop being dramatic.”

He can feel Dean shake his head, short hair tickling his jaw and neck. “’s not why I said it.”

Sam sobers up at that. His fingers stroke down the line of his brother’s spine. “Yeah, of course I know. What brought this up?”

Another head shake. “Nothin’. I’s just thinking it.”

Sam’s smile is probably embarrassingly wide so he’s glad Dean can’t see it. “Okay,” he says.

“That’s it? ‘Okay’?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Dean blows out a breath, which promptly makes him cough again. “I don’t know, maybe ‘Oh, I love you, too, Dean, you’re the best big brother in the world.’ Somethin’ ‘long those lines.”

Sam’s eyebrows draw together. “Since when do you actually wanna hear stuff like that?”

“I dunno. My head hurts.”

Automatically, Sam lifts his hand to the back of Dean’s neck, fingertips massaging the muscles at the base of his skull, and Dean makes a sounds that’s almost a moan, muffled against the dip of Sam’s throat.

“Sleep,” Sam urges gently, voice low. His own breaths are rustling the tips of Dean’s hair. Dean’s fingers flex against his side as he slowly drifts off.

“Of course I love you,” Sam says after a moment, something heavy clogging his throat, “So much.”

Dean hums sleepily. “I know, S’mmy.”


End file.
